Recently we heard the sad news that Dwale (it/its), a veteran writer and poet, recently passed away. If next of kin requests donations be sent to a particular cause, we will share those details.
Dwale was a friend to many and had a strong impact within the furry and furry writing communities, including the Guild as former President. Its writing can be found here: Books by Dwale (Author of The Furry Future)
This week’s coffeehouse chats were dedicated in its honor, with today’s involving sharing works written in memory of it. These are collected here, and I invite you to add your own thoughts, memories, or short memorial works if you would like.
I saw you running tonight
Against a black infinity, your pawprints left
a trail of shining white
Your eyes blazed with silver tears that
drfited from your cheeks as stars
Your voice was aching melancholy of a shrouded soul
Constellations escaped you as stories that bled from your heart
I saw you running tonight into forever
As a ripple of light in the dark.
Your tracks will shine in my mind and sky
and your stars remain in all you touched.
Thank you my friend. May darkness keep you safe, and find you peace.
It was in a cool northwest October where I first met you.
And it was in a warm southeast May where I last saw you.
Among the bustle of thousands of furs. We sat down as we planned,
And we talked about world building, about dreams, to a room full of people.
There’s no record of this now except for our notes, a little over two years later,
And an entire pandemic between us, but I knew, when it was over,
And we returned to Atlanta, I was going to see you again in a room,
And we’d both be talking to a crowd about something—
That was until it happened, and you were gone.
Maybe it’s my fault we weren’t closer, but you touched so many people
Who was I to demand all your attention?
I wish I had said more, but I know I at least said something,
And I was so happy when I had a reason to send you a private message,
a week before you were gone, to ask a question of you—
Now I only have what you told me and what you wrote to look back at.
There are still things I didn’t ask I wanted to know,
Words to seek your advice on, that I should have asked about—
But then I never thought you would be done so soon.
I don’t understand what happened, but back when I saw you last,
When I walked out of the room, you were pleased about the panel,
It had gone well, you were happy, and you were smiling,
As you thanked me for asking you to do this with me,
Before we were both on to our next things, as so many before us,
Through the cavernous spine of Atlanta.
At the very start
You helped me with my own art
Yours we’ll remember
Beneath that evening’s breeze the sickly sweet
And brazen scent of countless flow’rs
Awoke inside of you a darkened sleep
Of dreams dug deeper than the soil.
Oh, we are waking minds who missed that scent!
What hope have we who wait in life,
Who sit and pray and watch for your next breath?
Our hope can only reach for ends -
To wit, to see you wake and meet a mind
Too keen to weed a garden clean -
For we exhaled when you breathed in that breeze,
And flowers wreathe your sleeping form.
Every day is its own story;
or at least, that’s what they tell me.
Yet by stories lived, when you turn
the page, you find yet another
line: this, an endless epilogue.
It doesn’t seem to matter that
the eulogies and epitaphs
are over with, so say the dawn:
“My story ended when you went
so far away, forever gone.”
But should the day come, and for that,
I persist; that this wound closes
I’ll treasure the scar left behind
Something to remember you by
As I live new stories again.